Posted by Tania Kindersley.
So sorry about that awful showing off yesterday. What you have to put up with. Sometimes I think I am like a six year old doing a tap dance. I did once learn tap, but I was never the mistress of step ball change.
Today, everything is more usual. I felt cranky and uninspired, but managed to bash out 882 words through sheer force of will. Hard deadlines are good for this, but having a co-writer helps. Sarah very politely never asks me for my word count, but I feel I will be letting her down if I cannot produce enough of the good stuff, so it's both professional and personal. Balzac had a bowl of rotting apples on his desk to spur the creative process. Or was it Flaubert? One of those grand French fellows. I never quite understood that. I think it was something to do with mortality. I much prefer my elegant co-conspirator to dead fruit, but that's just me.
All of which is a long way of telling you my brain has now gone on strike, so I shall leave you with some pretty pictures from yesterday evening, for your visual pleasure:
Wild grass with salvia.
White lilac with dry stone wall.
Flowerbed with hellebore. (When I started this garden, I wanted it to look wild, as if it had grown up naturally. I think you will agree I have succeeded in the wild part. The more organised gardeners out there will be fainting away in shock.)
Peony with one dog. Other dog was off chasing rabbits and therefore unavailable for her close-up. This one, however, is my little shadow, and never goes far from my side, presumably in case I should disappear in a puff of smoke or move to Mongolia without her or some such. Must, must, must not anthropomorphise, but it is rather touching. Just look at that yearny face. Although I do admit the moony expression might have more to do with the possibility that I may have a biscuit in my pocket.